


It's supposed to be a secret

by strawberrycrab



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Assumptions, Canon Related, Crossover, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:33:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23373229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrycrab/pseuds/strawberrycrab
Summary: Crossover between The song of Achilles and Captive prince (my favorite books).Laurent assumes patroclus is Achilles' abused slave and wants to help him escape.Patroclus is pretending to be Achilles' slave while he's aiding in the war against Kaster.It's a disaster for both of them.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Song of Achilles), Damen & Nikandros (Captive Prince), Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 181





	1. Chapter 1

It is common courtesy, Laurent thinks, to adjust ones actions to the situation they're in. His men have gone without the likes of pets and whores-- though they lack the status of pets, still, they have brought no whores back to camp. 

And, begrudgingly, most of Damianos' men have left their slaves untouched; a way to show respect for their King's choices. 

Most have done this. Except for him. 

Laurent did not like him the first moment they met. He was and is too cocky, too proud for someone who is, supposedly, fighting for his king. He does not seem to care much at all, in fact, about Damianos or Kaster, the war, or even loyaty. 

The only thing he seems to care about is fucking and parading the slave boy he brought with him. 

Achilles, he is called. The name makes Laurent frown. Achilles from isthima, the son of a kyroi. 

"His father is important" Nikandros had told him. "We need him on our side." 

"So we keep him happy, we let him rape the boy." Laurent responded. 

Nikandros rolled his eyes. He had told Laurent before, as Damen once did, how different slavery was in akielos. An honor, a partnership. Fancy ways to dress up forcing people into service and using them. 

Laurent suspects Damen has changed his mind on slavery but, unfortunately, the other akielons have not. So Achilles keeps his slave and no one says a word about it. 

Patroclus, that's his name, patroclus. He's a pretty boy, deep skin and dark brown hair tousled in curls. His eyes are big, and rich in earthy color, but nervous-- Laurent has noticed that, always nervous. Theres no doubt he was expensive. 

The way Achilles keeps one arm around him, on him, holding his hand so possessively; oh yes, there is no doubt he was expensive. 

It is repulsing for the prince to watch them. Always moving together as though attached. Patroclus keeps his eyes downcast the way he was trained to-- he says nothing unless hes spoken to. Laurent hates that Achilles is allowed to drag him into meetings. 

It's bad enough that he's had the displeasure of accidentally hearing them fuck. 

But nothing can be done. That is what he is told, nothing can be done. 

He wants to talk to damen about it, he is their king after all, but Nikandros will not let him. He keeps an ear and an eye open for Laurent approaching and everytime goes to stop him. 

"You hurt him enough" he says. "You may be a prince and he may love you but I will not let you continue to hurt him." 

That is usually enough-- the sting in his heart-- to turn him around and send him back to his own tent without a word. The last time he went, he stayed and asked Nikandros to address the issue with Damen. 

"No." He had said. 

And Laurent, angry and stung by the previous words had tightened his fists and hissed out "Why. Not.?"

"Because this is a small issue. Drop it."

So he left again. 

Small issue, yes perhaps to him it is a "small issue", he was raised with this. Laurent was not. 

"Small issue." Abuse has never been a "small issue." To laurent. And perhaps it would be-- maybe-- if Patroclus acted like Isander or Erasmus: needy and hopeful and playful with their masters. 

Yes it would be false, conditioned and wrong, but at least laurent would not have to face this. 

The nervousness in his eyes, the clumsiness in his bow and every movement as though he was not used to this. 

That boy, who knows what Achilles is doing him to-- how he is hurting him, to make him this way. 

"Small issue." Sure, of course. Small issue his ass. 

He will bring it up damen, once he gets time with him alone. Though... alone with damen, he does not know if his heart can handle it 

But first, he thinks, maybe he will try a new way. He convinced erasmus to be brave-- maybe he can convince patroclus too. 

The games tomorrow will be quite crowded, a prince might need to take rest from the sun. 

\--- 

Patroclus is not used to this. The kissing and loving touches of Achilles he is used to, yes, they had been this way together back home in isthima. 

It is the bowing he is not used to. Bowing, curtseying, serving-- it's a lot to keep track of! He doesnt know what the right procedures are, where hes supposed to sit and how he's supposed to be. 

Achilles is little help, he doesnt know either. All he knows is how much he likes to kiss and hold patroclus no matter who is looking. 

Patroclus worries they're going to be found out. 

Achilles doesnt think they will be.

But Patroclus has noticed, because it is hard not to notice, the crowned prince of Vere staring at him. He must know something... he must have seen the way real Akielon slaves are and think patroclus is nothing like one. 

He is trying, really, but being stared at does not help. It makes him so nervous. 

Yesterday he spilled wine because of it-- the nervousness-- and then he was so unsure of what to do, what a real akielon slave would do, that instead of kneeling or saying anything, he ran back into Achilles and his' tent. 

It was mortifying. 

When Achilles was asked to aid in this war, patroclus had been the one that clung to him, that promised he would join too-- despite his lack of battle training and hatred of fighting. He would do it for Achilles. 

Achilles had in turn, stubbornly said he would not go fight. He would stay in isthima with his lover and keep them safe there. He said he would not have patroclus there, miserable and forced. 

Patroclus did not want to hold Achilles back. 

Achilles did not want to force patroclus to go. 

Neither wanted to be without the other. 

It was a messy, teary instance. 

Then patroclus had an idea. "I will go-" 

"No, my love. I will not do this to you. " achilles had said. 

"Please, listen." Patroclus started again after a small peck on the lips "I will go, but I will not fight. I will disguise myself as your slave, then they will not be upset that I am not fighting. Then it will be ok for you to take me with you." 

There was a shine in his lover's eyes. It was a good idea, a safe way to get patroclus in. 

But still Achilles was uneasy. "Are you sure you will be ok with that? I do not want to disrespect you..."

Slavery is common in akielos, expected even. But Achille's father peleus did not keep slaves-- servants yes, they were paid, but not slaves. 

Achilles grew up knowing of slaves, he knew other houses had them, that the royal family did, that it was supposed to be honorable, but he never had slaves. Neither did he want them. 

When he met patroclus, whose own father, Chiron was a doctor, his dislike for slavery only grew. Patroclus did not like slavery, him and his father often were asked to treat wounded slaves, or tend to those giving birth-- often they would help some escape. 

Thus neither knew anything of slave mannerisms. Thus Achilles was uneasy with putting patroclus in this position. 

But patroclus had insisted and Achilles really did not want to go anywhere without his love. 

Now here they are. Now patroclus is trying, though unsure, to act his part as the good bed slave. 

But the crowned prince of Vere stares at him every day! 

It is nervewrecking!-- patroclus knows hes not the most balanced or poised, certainly not the most beautiful but still! He should not be found out so easily! 

And what will happen if they are found... will they force patroclus to fight? Will they shame him for pretending to be a slave... will they shame Achilles? 

It's all so much. 

Thus this, now, laying awake so late at night while his lover snores and thinking-- "what will I do... What if he already knows?"

Hopefully, it will be different tomorrow during the games. He will try to avoid the prince' sight. He will try to be proper at his role.


	2. The games

The games are split into sections—the first for racing, wrestling and other such sports and the second for Okton. It is the main event, there have been whispers even that King Damianos himself will join in the activity. 

“I think he will” Achilles had said. “It would show the people that he is alright, that he is strong like they believe him to be.” 

“You don’t believe he is?” 

Achilles thought then, he tends to take a moment to do so whenever Patroclus asks him a question. He considers it pensively even if he knows his answer already. It’s one of the things Patroclus loves about him. “I think, he will be a good king.” 

And if he is not, Isthima is an island. 

It goes without saying but he knows Achilles often thinks this. It is not against Damianos in particular, he seems like a good man. Achilles and his family and the Island have always, simply, been different, their customs mismatch with those of the mainland. Isthima will follow the orders of the true king unless the king does badly for Isthima. 

Patroclus suspects, even, that it was not for loyalty for the true king that his lover wanted to go to war—Achilles has always liked to fight, he was too young for Marlas but he will not miss this. 

His lover is strange that way. 

But his strangeness is a part of why Patroclus loves him. Why he crafts, so lovingly, a wreath for him to crown Achilles with once he wins the race. It is polished to a gleam, twisted and embellished with tiny white flowers Patroclus found while looking for medicinal herbs. 

He has kept it hidden since yesterday, along with a small plate of figs—the last they have from what they brought with them.   
Patroclus is giddy thinking about them.

He makes an excuse to stay behind while Achilles goes to prepare for his race. “I will be there before you start.” He says. “I need to check on Automedon.” 

Achilles whines, he gives Patroclus the saddest look he can muster and clings to his sleeve like a child. “Can he not wait?” 

“He hurt his leg; I should make sure he is okay.” 

A pout, a look, but he knows Patroclus is right and sighs, presses a kiss to his lips and goes. 

Achilles does not deal so much in medicine, that is Patroclus’ domain. Sometimes he wonders why he did not disguise himself as a medic, it is his profession back home—but in truth he has never done surgery on his own and this is a war. He could not, on principal, pretend he knows how to cut and stitch perfectly, he might cause more deaths than he means.

Automedon has a slight sprain, he will heal in the next two days but Achilles does not know that. It gives Patroclus just enough time to gather the wreath from his hiding spot, up the tree by the creek, as well as gather the figs. Hiding things from Achilles is not easy, he is keen of sight and ears. Patroclus must be really sneaky. 

He forgets himself as he races to the game arena, he is smiling and blushed with excitement for the look on his lover’s face—he forgets he is supposed to be acting his part as a slave. Are slaves not always forlorn? He does not really know-- The ones he knew usually did. 

He knows, once he gets there, that the crowned prince has his eye trained on him. It happens every time without fail!

Patroclus tries to keep himself level. ‘he does not know.’ He thinks, confidently. ‘he does not’.

A moment later he is trying to squeeze himself between two of his countrymen—tall as they are—so that the prince cannot see him while he watches Achilles race.  
\---  
It was never a competition; with Achilles it never is. Races are what he excels at, races and fighting, no man can deny it. 

He was born to fight a war—that is what their men, the Myrmidons think. That is Peleus thinks, and the other Kyroi, and had he been older, King Theomedes would have invited him to fight at Marlas, perhaps then he would have been the one to kill Prince Auguste, to end the war. 

They do no know him like Patroclus does. They see a weapon they can use; they do not see the man behind it. They don’t know how he likes to sing, and play games, how he is kind. They do not know him. 

Perhaps Achilles does not want them to. 

The way he runs is beautiful, he is swifter than any man ever seen and confident too. Patroclus and the myrmidons are used to such sights and look on with pride but their countrymen are not, there are gasps and stares—the king himself looks perplexed. There is pride too in this for the myrmidons, Patroclus knows, they like how they are associated with him—hand picked to serve Achilles in battle—and see how fast he is? See how he moves, unnaturally but graceful? 

He is theirs when he does this. 

He is Patroclus’ all other times. 

The race is won. It took little time, there was no hope for the other soldiers. Achilles is first to make it back in front of the king as well—dirt in their wounds—he is gracious accepting congratulations and compliments from the king but does not ask for any prize. He turns as soon as he can to the stands and moves like a man dying of thirst towards water. 

“Patroclus.” He smiles, arms open and proud. 

“You’ve won!” Patroclus says, he hugs him tightly. 

“I’ve won!” A kiss, softly on his lovers’ lips, a breathless touch, and pink cheeks. “I want you…” He says. 

“Tonight.” Patroclus assures him. “look!” 

Gleaming, polished, not a dent in the leaves. 

“For me?” 

“I knew you would win.” 

Another kiss, he wants to insist, Patroclus knows, but it would not be right to go now. 

Patroclus places the wreath softly on Achilles’s golden head and offers him a fig. “There are only these left. They’re for you.” 

“and you.” 

“You won them.” 

“and I choose to share them with you, take the first bite.” 

He does. More kissing, Achilles takes his first taste of fruit from Patroclus mouth—it is a bad habit of his, he finds it funny. Patroclus finds it repulsing, he makes a face at him. 

“I hate when you do that, the food is already chewed!” horrified. 

Achilles shrugs. He has never cared about sharing everything with him and he is bold and sure in everything he does. Patroclus must admit it holds some charm.   
\---  
Revolting. That sort of display should not be allowed. The way the slave boy turned his cheek but was forced back, he almost turns to damen and says it but guilt stops him.

They have not spoken much.

It is better this way, that is what laurent convinces himself. This is how it should be-- there can be nothing more between him and the man that killed his brother.

This is right.

He should not feel guilty. He steels himself outwardly. He should not feel anything towards him.

Even when Damen, naked in the sun, wrestles another man. Even when he knows Nikandros is watching too.

Nikandros. For all that he tries is far too easy to read, his love for damen is clear on his face but he does nothing about it. Perhaps he knows that nothing can come about between them. Perhaps hes always known. 

It does not stop the vicious seed of jealousy planting itself in Laurent's heart. No matter how he tries to stop it, he cannot.

There are three things he knows. The first is Nikandros and Damen have made love before-- it does not need to be said to him, he sees it in them, the way their bodies move around each other.

The second is that Nikandros has been and continues to be, hopelessly and loyally in love with Damen.

The third is that Damen does not love him back.

That fact should not be so satisfying, but it is, he likes that Nikandros cannot have him, he is jealous that he ever did and he is jealous... though deeply and secretly, at the ease in which they move around each other, the familiarity and comfort.

Laurent knows he will never have that.

When Damen loses interest, when he gives up on Laurent for the cruel cold hearted bitch he is, for the unwillingness to let go, for his anger. Damen has a chance to find someone new, someone better. He will have that comfort again in a lover that will make him happy.

Perhaps one day Nikandros will do.

Not Laurent. He'd never allow it... and he would not want it, it would not be right with someone else.

With anyone. He corrects himself. Anyone.

Damen wrestles and Laurent admits that he stares, admires the body of the akielon king. That body that so gently pulled him apart at ravenel.

When he and Nikandros go with each other, it is with those memories and with that jealousy that he follows them. That he stands with the smugness of a champion and tell Nikandros about their tryst, about how his king sucked him off and oh how Laurent loved it. 

He’s never been good at holding back his jealousy.   
\---  
The slave boy is walking on his own by the time Laurent is heading back to his throne at the stadium, he has two cups, no doubt filled with wine. Now is his chance— now when the other is not there to block him off. 

“Patroclus.” The boy turns, flinches, he drops the wine and does not know what to do. Laurent watches the panic on his face rise, he starts to apologize, to move, and then kneels. He does not know what to do, what to expect. 

What has that brute done to him? 

Patroclus has his head down, he keeps attempting to start an apology but his veretian is broken, there is shame on his face. 

“It’s okay.” Laurent says. “You can speak your language to me, I understand it.” 

“I.. I. I am sorry exalted. I did not see, er, did not know that you were here. I should have been more careful.” 

“Accidents happen.” 

“Yes, exalted.” He is antsy to go.

Laurent thinks a moment. “did your master send you to fetch the wine?” 

He nods. “Yes, exalted.” 

“He is expecting you to be back with it.” 

“Yes, exalted.” 

“Tell him I stopped you from taking wine. Tell him I would like to invite him to my quarters for dinner—he may drink there.” 

Silence, perhaps he is uneasy about the lie, perhaps he has lied before and it has been met harshly. In the end he nods and before he is excused makes to leave.

“wait.” 

He freezes. 

“Do you know, Patroclus that some men escape their masters?” 

His head inclines, he will not answer. 

“If he is hurting you, you need only to tell me. I would not allow him to hurt you or take you back. I would not make you do anything distasteful.” 

He is quiet again but this time he looks at Laurent directly with his mouth slightly agape. Perhaps he had never considered it before or perhaps he believed he would never get the chance. Either way he does not take the chance to leave—not yet, he must be afraid—not yet. 

“yes, Exalted.” He says again and once again starts off towards his master. 

What has that brute done to him? What has he been through that the fear is too great to let him escape? Laurent supposes, he will find out soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmmm this took longer than I thought it would :') I hope it still ended up okay.


	3. The dinner

“but why would he invite me?” That has been the question since Patroclus and Achilles arrived back to their tent. In truth Achilles has had such little interaction with the Prince of Vere that he almost would have forgotten who he was if he wasn’t always staring in their direction. 

Patroclus thinks he does not notice, but he does. He simply refuses to change his behavior to fit whatever strange standard the prince thinks he should be achieving. He isn’t his king after all. 

“I don’t know why. But you can’t not show up.” 

Achilles quirks a brow. “Can’t I?” his cat’s smile. “I wanted to have some time with you, I miss you already.” Quickly his hands rest on Patroclus’ hips, the way he knows his lover likes, and he has that look—over confidence and playfulness that he knows makes it difficult for Patroclus to refuse. 

His lover is so easy. The red tint on his cheeks says it all, the way he chews just the side of his lip and looks anywhere but directly at Achilles tells him that he is considering it. All he needs to do now is sway him a little more—a light kiss, just a brush of their lips together. 

“Achilles…” he whines. Got him.

Achilles moves with certainty; he rubs Patroclus’ hips and brings him forward just a touch so that he can feel the desire growing between them. He knows how it will go from here and can hardly wait. Patroclus will melt into him, there will be kissing and he will whimper so beautifully under Achilles touch, gentle at first—it is what he likes—harder after. He’s almost impatient just waiting for it. 

“Achilles…” here it comes. “No…” 

What. “What?” he pulls back from the closeness. 

Patroclus does not look at him, his hands ring around each other and she shuffles his feet as he stutters “I don’t mean! I mean… I do want… it’s not that- look- “ 

Achilles brings his hand gently under Patroclus’ chin, and lifts so that he can look at him. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to.” He says. “You know that.” 

“I know… I just mean… You should go to that dinner.” 

Oh, this. “What for? I don’t even know what he wants.” 

“I just think, it would be good. He doesn’t like you; he thinks you’re hurting me…”

“What?!” Achilles drops his hand. His fists clench, he hates the assumptions people make about him and Patroclus. It’s always been the same, even on Isthima, and he has heard it all—Achilles is too controlling; he is using his position to force that boy, he is too angry, he is hurting him—how ridiculous! Now here too. It’s always been so irritating, how they think Patroclus couldn’t stand up for himself, how they think Achilles would hurt him. 

“He spoke to me before I came back, when I went to get the wine. He thinks that… maybe if you went- “ 

“He could question me? He could ask me directly if I hit you?” he steps back, nostrils flaring and teeth grinding. 

“No! I don’t think he would. I mean if you went, you could show him- “

“Show him what?!” 

“Show him how kind you are! Show him what you show me… that you love me” The little flush on Patroclus’ face is enough to bring Achilles back to earth. It is a problem of his, how quickly he gets so angry, how intensely. He knows it a problem. But Patroclus has this ability, this talent to always bring him back, to bring the best out in him and it makes him want to be better. It makes him want to control himself so that he can be the best lover for him. 

“Okay, I’ll go.” For him, he will go. 

Patroclus smiles. “You should brush your hair before you go!” 

Even that, which he hates to do, he would do for him… if Patroclus can find where he hid the hair brush. 

\--- 

This wasn’t exactly what Laurent had planned. He had wanted to talk to the slave boy, he didn’t, so much, want to talk to his master. But sometimes plans don’t go the way he wants them to, that’s how it was at Fortaine, when he was caught and jailed and missed their rendezvous. 

That’s one of the reasons Nikandros doesn’t trust him… why Damen may not trust him. 

Not that it matters. 

Laurent cleans up his space, there isn’t much to organize but there is much to place—he wants to make sure things look perfect, easy. Just in case this man tries anything. He sets the table with food and wine—for Achilles, and water for himself, and he waits. 

He’s there before long. He looks exactly like Laurent imaged, like he does not want to be there, like he’s counting the seconds until he can go back. Well… he’ll just have to keep him longer then. 

“Prince Laurent.” He nods towards him. He does not bother with the high title they use—exalted—perhaps he does not want to, perhaps he thinks Laurent would not appreciate it. If he were to bet, it would be because it’s the closest thing he can get to disrespecting him. Good. 

“Achilles. Come sit.” They sink down, neither moves, their eyes meet and neither speaks either.

“Please enjoy.” Laurent says, he takes a sip of the water and watches the other man for movement. 

“Thank you. Was there a reason you called me here?” ah, Akielon bluntness, he did expect this. 

“For dinner.” 

“Yes… and?” 

“Well if we are going to get right to it, You’re from the island, yes?” 

Achilles nods. “And you’re from Arles, I’ve been there once.” 

“Have you?” 

“With my father. It’s different, cold, the streets are kind of old.” 

“You didn’t like it.” 

“You wouldn’t like Isthima.” 

Silence between them. He is not sure what Achilles means by that—if it’s meant to be a jab or if he’s trying to make conversation. What is obvious is that he is not a diplomat by any means. 

“Right. And have you had any contact with Makedon?” 

“Oh. That’s what this is about.” It isn’t, but it’s useful for Laurent to have Achilles think so, it’ll get him talking. “I haven’t spoken to him but my men and I are loyal.” 

Laurent quirks an eyebrow. “and yet you don’t follow your King’s orders.” 

“What? We showed up to the games—I participated! We’re here in support of him, what orders, exactly am I breaking?” 

“Your king does not keep slaves. None of the other men are keeping them either.” 

“I am not sending Patroclus home.” He is angry now, Laurent can see, his face has gone harsh and reddened and his hand is tight on his wine goblet. So, this is the monster that Patroclus deals with, this is what he fears. 

There is no chance that Laurent will allow this to continue. He has set his trap from the moment this dinner was decided. Now he has to spring it. 

“No, I imagine you won’t. Much more fun to torture the boy, isn’t it?” 

The goblet snaps in Achilles’ hand, he stands to full height and barres him teeth like a dog. “I never hurt him! You know nothing!” 

Laurent stands too. “I’d watch your tone.”

“Or what? You’ll have me whipped, Prince Laurent? We all know you prefer it.” 

“I am not your slave. You will not speak to me like you speak to him.” 

In that moment he catches but a glimpse of what Patroclus must go through. Achilles smashes the plate in front of him, shattering it and screams his innocence again. Laurent is sure, if he had not had his status, that the next step would have been a punch.

“Guard!” Laurent calls. Though, he really does not have to. The noise is enough to draw them in and apprehend Achilles—four of them, he is a strong man and fast as well. “Take him to the pen. King Damianos can deal with him in the morning.” 

The shouting and struggling and fighting fades with their departure. Step one has been accomplished. 

\--- 

Well it’s been over thirty minutes and Achilles has not come back complaining about the prince of Vere—that must mean their dinner is going well. Patroclus hopes so anyway, he hopes his lover can show the prince his charm and get his prying eyes off of them. Maybe it would even become an alliance between them, that would be helpful for King Damianos too. Hopefully.

Patroclus takes up medicine work while he waits for Achilles to tell him the news. He pulls from his jars of carefully picked herbs and combines them—some into pastes, some into salves and some into a thinner medicine, good for drinking. His father taught him all this. 

In truth, Chiron is not his birth father but he has been with him since he was a child so he might as well be. Chiron did everything for him that a father should do, he taught him how to fish and hunt, how to read and write. He taught him to be honorable, and showed Patroclus what a good father was meant to be, what a good man was. 

He came to Chiron when he was six. It was the first time he had been to a doctor, one of the slave women from his home had taken him while his father was sleeping. Patroclus remembers it was a long trip, he had limped half the way until they met a man that lent them a cart for him to rest in.

The state he was in, Chiron had said—from what Patroclus remembers of that night—he was lucky to be alive. 

‘he’s done worse’ Patroclus had thought. ‘He’ll do worse when he finds me here.’ He asked Chiron to let him die but he did not. And when his father came looking for him, he hid Patroclus in his home until he left. 

Chiron saved him. It is something he’ll never forget. 

Patroclus’ reminiscing distracts him from the shuffle at the front of the tent. He continues with his mixing and hums a greeting. 

“Your master has called for you.” That is not Achilles. Patroclus snaps to attention, he stands uneasily. 

Two Veretians stand before him, they wear the mark of their prince. “Achil- my master has… called?” Patroclus asks. 

“Come with us.” 

Before he can respond, one of the men grabs him by the arm and leads him out of the tent. Strange, Achilles has never sent others to come get him. It must be part of their roles, Patroclus reasons. He must be with the prince and this must be the way it has to be to keep up appearances. 

Perhaps it even means that they are getting along well. Yes, that must be it. Patroclus plays his part too. He goes willingly with the men. He keeps his gaze down. But on his face is the giddy smile of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh!! I read every single comment and I have to say thank you so much!!! I didn't expect this kind of response and it really makes me so happy! I'm glad you guys are enjoying this story and I just hope I can keep doing good work for you!! 
> 
> Thank you for being interested -w- I hope you like this chapter too!


	4. The night

Patroclus first noticed something was wrong when the lights of the fires and the shapes of the tents began to fade into the background as he walked along the path set by the two veretians in front of him. He had first thought it was to give the Prince privacy from his subjects, but as he looked ahead, he saw no fire burning and no tent, big and lavish, as he assumed a veretian prince’s would be.

He paused before they could get too far away from the tents in the veretian camp, and looked back. There was no doubt something was wrong; the prince would not be so far from his men to be in the woods—how would they know if he was attacked? No, something else was happening here and he knew it. 

“Your master is this way.” One of the men said, his accent thick. 

“He’s with the prince?” Patroclus asks. 

Uneasy “Yes.” 

“Why does the prince sleep so far from everyone?” It is not good slave etiquette to question; he knows that much is true but it does not stop him. There is no slavery in Vere, surely these men don’t know everything. 

“This way.” The man insists. 

“in the woods? Isn’t that dangerous? I think my master should come get me.” This too is not proper of slaves, to think and make requests. He waits to see how the men will respond—if they go and pretend to get Achilles, Patroclus will run back towards the Akielon camp and call for help. Even if the Myrmidons do not hear him, the other Akielons will, they know it is wrong to take a slave from a man—they consider him Achilles’ property and will help. 

If the men push for him to go, he will go with them and run away after, when they are sleeping. 

He waits, the silence is awkward but that might be because the man is trying to find the right words in Akielon. “This way.” He insists “He is waiting for you.” 

Patroclus bows his head and follows the men again, into the darkness of the woods. So, he is being kidnapped or something of the like—what they do not know is Patroclus has been trained to track his way back. Chiron taught him this too—it was a good skill for him to have while picking herbs, no matter how far he got into the forests or cliffs of Isthima, he always found his way back home. 

He will do the same here. It is a different place, a different route but he knows he can do it, the skills are all the same. 

They do not walk too far, but it is at least an hour that has gone by before they stop. There is a tent set up, tall enough to stand in but rather small overall. The men gesture towards it and Patroclus enters. He is not surprised to see nothing but a bedroll and a portion of food inside. 

He still asks “My master?” 

One of the men—the same one who spoke to him before, the other must not know Akielon—smiled big at him and patted his back. “No more master.” He says. “The prince set you free, you don’t worry anymore. We will go to town in the morning and give you money. You can have a new life.” 

“Oh” Patroclus sighs. “Oh, thank you! Thank you! I am free!” It is so fake in his mouth but he knows he will be believed, it is better that they do believe him, then they will not watch him so much. It will be easier to escape. Patroclus bows deeply before them; he offers to cook their food for them and they allow him to. 

He plays into the image they want to see. He cooks dutifully and sings gratitude for being freed periodically. When it is time for bed, he turns bashful and refuses to lay in the bedroll with them there. 

“I cannot… it would not be right… in Akielos we keep our own rooms or sleep with our masters.” He actually does not know that as a fact but neither do the veretians. It does work in his favor though, they let him have the tent to himself. 

Patroclus will wait until the night lulls them to sleep, in the meantime he sets up what he will need. He keeps a knife tucked into the fold of his garment, it is meant to cut thicker plants or help uproot them but it will serve his purpose fine. He tucks it underneath the bedroll. He takes the gold cuffs and collar off—they were fitted loosely so that he would be able to do so—when he gets back, he will tell them that bandits took them from him. These he will throw into a river on his way back. 

Now he must wait, there is nothing else he can do. He rests his head on the pillow and listens to the noises of the forest—when the owl song gets lower and the world seems to hold still, that is when he will go. 

\----

It is late when Damen is awoken to the news of a prisoner—he almost tells the messenger to go away, if the messenger were not Nikandros, he would have. 

“Why is this important?” Damen yawns. 

“Because, Damen, the Prince has imprisoned Achilles of Isthima.” 

Oh, that was certainly not good. “Did he say why?” 

Nikandros rolls his eyes. “He did not, he wants you there.” 

“He wants to talk to me?” Perky

Nikandros glares at him. It is no secret that his best friend has a hatred of the Prince of Vere, and the way it seems is that the feeling is mutual. Damen understand why, he has his own issues with Laurent but there is a force there, a feeling, that won’t let him hate him despite everything that has gone on between them. 

Even now, even when he has imprisoned an important political tie, Damen can’t help but be slightly happy that he wants to talk to him at all. He gets up from the bed, dresses quickly and follows Nikandros out to the pen. 

He’s there, irritated with his arms crossed across his chest and a stare that would scare wolves away, but it isn’t directed at him, its too low. Damen follows the line of sight to the angry stare of his best friend. Ah… so as much as he is part of it, this fight is between them. 

“Why have you put Achilles in jail?” Damen asks, partly to know and partly to cut the tension. 

“He was screaming and breaking things while at dinner with me”

“You had him over for dinner?” 

“Damen.” Nikandros warns. Right, that was not the point. 

“Damen,” Laurent counters “This kind of disrespect is not tolerated.”

“We can’t have Achilles in jail, his father is an important kyros!” Nikandros says. 

Damen sighs, it is like cats and dogs between these two and now here is just another issue to fight about. Peleus’ son has disrespected the prince of Vere, he cannot stay in jail and he cannot be whipped— his status is too high for that, but he cannot go unpunished either. It is a tricky situation. 

“I will hear what he has to say.” Damen reasons. “He cannot stay in jail-“ 

“As I said.” Nikandros smiles smugly. 

Now it is Damen’s turn to glare. “But,” he continues. “We will have to come up with a suitable punishment for him.” 

Laurent is smug now too. “Perhaps we send his slave home, if the boy hasn’t already run off.” 

“we will see what he has to say.” Damen says. 

He leaves the two of them where they are, it’s not likely that they will kill each other, they’ll probably just fight some more. It is Damen’s job to take care of this, he approaches the pen and waits for Achilles to notice him. 

It takes longer than he expected, the man was sitting and staring out into the woods as though he were looking for something but he does turn eventually and stands. “Exalted.” He says. 

“Your father sent a message warning me you were a handful. I expected brawls or drunkenness, I did not expect you to fight with the Prince of Vere.” 

“It is not all my fault,” Achilles says. “I did get angry and I did break the plate and the goblet but only after he accused me of a crime. He invited me to dinner! I came and then he accused me of abusing my lover, is there not a level of hospitality that should be met by the host?” 

Ah, a further complication. Hospitality laws are strict in Akielos, if someone invites you to their home for a meal it is common knowledge that the host must be kind, generous and inviting. Starting a fight with a guest is not allowed in Akielon hospitality—and then again neither is breaking dinnerware. 

“It was not right for him to accuse you of this, especially as a guest. You must also take responsibility for your actions, Achilles, and understand also that he is a Prince, you must have respect for him.” 

“yes, Exalted, I am aware of his position.” 

“You are young but that does not excuse you, do you understand?” 

“… Yes. How long must I stay here?” 

“You cannot stay here. But you will apologize to the prince.” 

Achilles bunches his fists. “And will the prince apologize to me? And my lover?” 

Damen rubs his head. “We will see. Go back to your tent for tonight, Achilles, we will deal with this in the morning.” 

He opens the pen and lets the man go free and once he is gone; he goes to Laurent and Nikandros once more, but it is Laurent’s arm he grabs. “We need to talk.” 

“Oh?” he says

“Now would be best. In my tent.” 

Laurent is still angry with him, but right there, in that moment, he seems more focused on his strange rivalry with Nikandros. He turns to the man and grins as though he has won a fortune and then turns back and walks with Damen. 

It is strange times indeed and much too late to be dealing with this. Ah well, there goes his sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this isn't too slow and that you enjoy it! thank you for reading :P


	5. The night pt 2

“So?” Laurent says like he has little care for this conversation. He drapes himself across a high-backed chair, checks his nails and waits, expectantly. 

“So,” Damen says “He says you accused him of abusing his lover.” 

Laurent snorts. “That boy is not his lover.”

“Did you accuse him?” 

“I pointed out the obvious. You’ve seen it too, why do you act blind to it?” 

The small drum of a growing ache forms on Damen’s temple, he pinches at it with his fingers. Well, this does not help matters at all. 

Laurent continues. “He is hurting him. We’ve all seen the marks, I accused him but only because you have done nothing. Tell me, Damianos, you were so concerned about the slaves in Arles, but why do you do nothing now that you have power?” 

“It is not so simple.” 

“Isn’t it?” Laurent sits up now and faces him fully, the anger clear on his face. 

“Laurent.” Damen growls. “This is not an issue we need to be involving ourselves in.” 

“Because he is a slave? Coming from you-“ 

“He is not a slave!” Damen shouts. “Have you not seen him? His form is off, his responses are slow—that is not a slave that the son of a Kyros would have, let alone take with him into a battle. That is a lover, Laurent.” 

Laurent is silent, the look on his face tells Damen he is processing the possibility but, unfortunately, he is not fully convinced. 

“The Kyros of Isthima does not keep slaves, it is what I noticed from visiting there. I doubt his son would even be allowed to.” 

“We do not know that he wouldn’t” Laurent counters. 

Damen sighs. “no, I suppose we don’t. But have you seen them together? They look happy.” 

“Achilles looks happy. The boy always looks nervous.” 

“Perhaps he is. Perhaps he is afraid of being caught.” 

A moment to think. Damen does not pretend to know the reasons why the boy would have mascaraed as a slave when he could have easily joined as a solider—it certainly would have been easier if he had, then Damen would not have to deal with this. Whatever the case, Damen is sure that he is not a slave, no slave behaves the way he does, so boldly, with a master. 

“What will you do?” Laurent asks. His tone is different now, just a touch, quieter than earlier, the anger extinguished. 

“I am not sending the boy away, he’s done nothing. As for Achilles… I do not know, perhaps run extra drills.” 

“About the boy…” 

“I do not want to talk any further about the boy. I need sleep.” 

“It is important.” 

“I’m sure it can wait for morning.”

“Perhaps not. I had him taken from his tent.” 

“What!?” 

“I meant to free him, to give him a new life.” 

Ah, always something further to deal with. “We should go find Achilles before he demolishes the camp looking for him.” 

\----

The guards assigned to him snore; it would be a little annoying if it wasn’t beneficial. Patroclus waits just a little further, until he is sure they will not be easily awoken and then he takes the knife from underneath the bedroll, crawls to the back of the tent and cuts himself free.

That was the easy part. 

He follows the steps he set up in his head, crawls out of the tent, gathers the gold and runs towards the thickest part of the woods as quietly as he can. It won’t take more than a couple hours to get back home, he only hopes Achilles has not discovered his absence, his lover is not one to think reasonably before acting. 

Patroclus needs to be quick. 

He runs until he reaches a creek, there he dumps one of his gold cuffs and pushes forward.

There are a few times where he needs to pause, to think, he remembers this part of the forest, there was fungus growing on that tree and moss on the rock. The high moon in the sky helps him find the right path—soon there will be a river, it is not so deep that he must swim to cross, but the rocks are slippery and dangerous. 

His first pass over he had assistance from the veretians, it will be more difficult alone. 

There, the river glows silvery in the moonlight, he dumps the collar and the cuff in the water so that they float downstream and then, carefully as he can, he tip toes through the water. 

He falls three times before he is half way through, it is much harder to see the rocks than he first expected, despite the moon. The first time he only ends up wet to his chest, the second and third he cuts his knees and arms on the sharp rocks. 

Half way. He decides to lower himself closer to the water, it does not help his balance but instead of falling flat, he will be able to catch himself much easier and keep going. It works for the most part, he only falls twice more and only really cuts his hands and chin, it is not so bad. 

Passed the river, through the forest, he remembers this tree and that—there is an owls nest in the other. The ground is softer here, harder there, half a rock is buried, he is getting close to home. 

There is little left, only the burrow which he passes and the incline, which he slides himself down on and—there, the shapes of tents and faint glowing embers of dying fires. Home. 

He runs as quickly as he can, if he were Achilles, he would be faster. He passes by tents of veretians and Akielons, the smells of food long past and smoke still blowing—almost, almost, almost…

\----

“Patroclus?!” The yell resounds just as Damen and Laurent reach the front of Achilles tent. 

“I suppose he found out.” Laurent says. 

“That would be the case.” Damen sighs. 

What a night, what a mess. They go towards the sound of the yelling and find the man looking frantically around the backwoods surrounding the Myrmidon camp. 

“Achilles…” Damen starts. 

“Where is he? Have you seen him? Do you know where he is?” 

The two future kings look at each other and then look back, Laurent clears his throat before speaking “well…” 

“Achilles?!” 

There is mercy in the universe. They all turn towards the voice and wet, injured figure of Patroclus. It takes less than a second for Achilles to be by him, holding him tenderly in his arms, kissing and fussing over the tatters of his clothes and blood on his body. 

“Where did you go? What happened to you?” He asks. 

Patroclus looks first at the two kings before responding, a choice clear in his head. 

“Bandits….I was washing by the river when they attacked me and took me away. I found my way back.” 

“They hurt you…” Achilles growls. “Do you remember where they had you?” 

“No… but they didn’t hurt me, I fell.” 

“You don’t need to lie for them Patroclus, if one of them let you go, I’ll let him live. You just need to tell me, Tell me where they are and I’ll kill them.”

“No… I.. I’m tired, Lay with me, please?” The weary look on his face and the wobble of his lower lip must play Achilles’ heart strings because he drops the issue after that, picks the boy up and carries him back to their tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh! We're reaching the end of the fic. I think maybe one or two more chapters left. Let me know what you think!


	6. care

Achilles is attentive, he packs Patroclus wounds with yarrow and honey and wraps them gently with precut cloth that Patroclus keeps saved with the other tinctures and balms, medical supplies that he brought with him. The scratch on his chin is slight, but Achilles still takes the time to pat it clean and press a kiss to the spot. 

Patroclus smiles at the softness of his lover, he brings his hands up to his face and presses their foreheads gently together. It is silly, certainly the myrmidons think it is, how they must find comfort in each other after time apart, no matter how little the time. They do not understand, Patroclus thinks, they do not understand the desperation Achilles and he share for each other, the heartache at being separated, the heartache of being together. 

“Will you tell me who hurt you?” Achilles asks softly. 

Patroclus’s answers outside did not convince him, they were never going to, Achilles knows him too well, he knows every move and twitch, he knows what Patroclus sounds like when he is lying. 

Still… “I fell crossing the river” 

“Yes, that I believe. But you were not washing, it was not bandits that led you away.” 

Patroclus hesitates. “It is not important.” 

“My heart, anything with you involved is important.” Achilles says. He brushes a gentle hand through Patroclus’ hair that Patroclus leans into. 

“Achilles…” 

“You need only tell me and I will take care of it. For you, I would leave this war, I would go against the king, I would drag the sun from the sky if it meant your happiness.” He does not say the other things, Patroclus thinks, that he would slaughter an army, that he would bring Patroclus the head of whoever slighted him if he asked. But Patroclus does not like this violence, he never has. Achilles is sweet when he talks of his devotion but it has always carried the edge of a knife along with it.

He turns his head from Achilles and rests it on his shoulder. “My love, I do not want to speak of this anymore, please. Peace.” It will frustrate Achilles, but he will move from it, because Patroclus has asked him to. 

They are quite for a moment, resting with each other, thinking. Achilles told him what had happened with the prince, that he had been in the pen for all of about half an hour before King Damianos had let him go, that the punishment would be discussed but he doubted it would be more than some extra training. Nothing he could not handle, he had said. 

“You must mind yourself around the prince” Patroclus had told him. “He is Veretian, and sometimes he is wrong but he is kind. It will be good to mind yourself.” Achilles had nodded, half listening, half focusing on the scrapes of Patroclus’ knees. He will tell him again if he acts out. 

It is late and early. The breeze of the night still cools their skin but it will not be too long before the dawn breaks. There is still time for them to rest.   
\---  
Rest is not on Achilles mind. 

His arms are locked around Patroclus’ frame, his hands begin to roam, up and down the notches of Patroclus’s spine, he counts them silently. Achilles lips find themselves at Patroclus’ throat, he kisses softly, and sucks at the taunt skin between neck and shoulder. 

“You are insatiable” Patroclus chuckles. 

“for you? Always” 

Patroclus shifts then, he moves so that he is pressed closely against Achilles and moans softly when his lover grinds against him. Ah, now this is the friction Achilles had been craving earlier and this time he will be sure to get it, the image of sweet lips and curled toes come to mind, he pulls away from his kisses at Patroclus’ neck and claims his mouth—hot and needy. 

Achilles brings his hands to his love’s hips, he holds tight, but not hard enough to bruise—no he will be gentle with him, he will prove that he is good to him. They are like this for some time, bucking and groaning against each other while their tongues lick along each other’s mouths. 

“turn for me” Achilles whispers, pulling Patroclus’ tunic off him. 

His love still blushes at the suggestion of sex, no matter how many times they have done it, not that Achilles minds, he loves the sweet look on Patroclus’ face, the way he shivers just slightly as he moves to the bedroll and turns over for him to claim. 

He is on his knees, head tucked into Achilles pillow—he tells him he likes the smell; he wants to smell him while they do this, it spurs Achilles on. He discards his tunic quickly; takes the oil from the hidden place they keep it and comes to rest behind Patroclus.

“You’re so beautiful” he croons before spreading the plush cheeks open and liking a stipe over his twitching hole. Patroclus lets out a gasp and Achilles knows to hold him still before he tries to turn over, this embarrasses him but Achilles cannot deny himself. 

He tongue fucks Patroclus with little mercy, the mewls and whimpers of his lover spur him to keep his pace brutal and hungry. Even as he begins to add oiled fingers to his ministrations, he does not do so slowly—he loves too much the way Patroclus’ moans sound, the way his knees shake. 

“Achilles..” Patroclus moans “please…”

“tell me what you want, philtatos.” 

“Please” he whimpers again. “you, inside, please...”

How could Achilles deny such a request? Especially when asked so sweetly. He oils his cock with haste, ruts between those plush cheeks before slowly pushing the blunt head inside. “Fuck” Achilles groans, Patroclus always feels so good around him.

Panting, he gives Patroclus a moment to adjust, he knows he is a big man. A moment later he sets his pace, slow and deep—he knows Patroclus can take him.   
They are a symphony of grunts and moans; Achilles keeps his grip firm on Patroclus’ hips as he ruts inside him. Patroclus has his hand clutching at the bedroll, he is loud in his pleasure as Achilles hits that sweet spot inside of him over and over. 

Achilles knows Patroclus’ body well, he knows when he squeezes around him, tight as a vice, that he is close. Achilles takes Patroclus cock into his hand and lets him and strokes him the way he likes until he is shuddering against him and spills into his hand. Not long after, a final few ruts and curses, Achilles spills inside.   
They are still for a moment, tired and panting. Patroclus hisses a bit when Achilles pulls out. He is contented when Achilles slots himself behind him and pulls him close to his chest. A kiss comes over his temple. 

“felt good” Patroclus murmurs, cuddling against Achilles. 

“mmh love you” Achilles tells him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry it took me forever to update! the /depression/ hit and then I had to go back to work :P but I hope you like this chapter! just a little sweetness between achilles and patroclus


	7. Enough

“Achilles, do you understand why you are being punished?” 

What a stupid question, of course he knows why he’s being punished, he lost his temper in front of the Veretian prince and all that. There will be a price to pay for raising his voice, shattering a plate and the few threats here and there he shouted off as they took him to the pen. 

Achilles thinks he can hardly be blamed, the prince was being an asshole and he responded accordingly. 

This was a fact he would love to bring up but Patroclus had made him promise to be on his best behavior, he sighs instead. “Yes, exalted.” he says. 

The King sighs. “You’re a great fighter, Achilles, but you need to have better control of your temper. I expect you won't lose it again.” 

“No, exalted.” 

“Yes well, I’m sure the extra exercises will only do you well. You should know that it is only because of your status that you are not being punished more harshly.” 

Achilles nods slowly, he takes a second to breathe before responding. “Yes, exalted.” the words feel taunt in his throat. 

“You’re dismissed.” 

“Yes, exalted.” Achilles turns on his heel and leaves before the anger starts to show on his face. 

Preposterous, ridiculous, insulting that the king thinks he must tell Achilles that his status saved him-- his status? His status?! Being the son of a kyros has its benefits but he is too smart to think that this is one of them, Damianos would be within his full right to do just about anything to Achilles, this is not about status, he resents the idea that it is. This is about his skill and the fucking prince of Vere. 

Achilles had offered his aid the second he heard of Nikandros travels towards Vere, he had known there was something off about Kastors ascension-- he had never liked that man-- no matter what they were up to. He fought well with the army in their first battle, anyone could see it, his speed and his strength and talent with the spear-- perhaps he could not best Damianos in a fight (the first time) but the king could likely not beat him either. 

It is his skill that lightens the punishment.   
It is the fact that the Veretian prince was in the wrong that lightens the punishment. Why hide such facts behind pomp and lies. His status-- ridiculous!

Still, Achilles holds his tongue, he walks quietly past the tents of other soldiers until he reaches his own Myrmidons-- he had promised the best behavior, stiff movements and quiet after an idiotic talk was the best he could give.

It does not matter, he would do his extra exercises and grow stronger because of them. It does not matter, he has his Patroclus with him still and soon there would be another chance to fight, he would show them then-- the king and the ice prince-- he would show them what he really looked like when he lost his temper. 

\--- 

Patroclus had made Achilles promise on good behavior before he left, it was the least he could do to make sure his lover did not end up in the pen again for insulting the King, it would be unlikely he would be let off easily a second time. 

The morning is calm and passive as it blows a small breeze through their campsite. They would be leaving today, marching forward into another fight. Patroclus cannot say he looks forward to it, the air here is fresh and smells of trees, the air where they are going will soon be filled with the smell of blood and burning earth-- of steel on steel and the anger of men clashing together. 

There will be injuries and death and he will do his part in serving the Myrmidons as they come back from battle. He will tend to their wounds, and place shrouds over the deceased. He will wash the blood from Achilles’ hands and bring him back from the harbinger of death he becomes. 

It will be messy. He sighs at the thought and continues his packing. 

The tent rustles behind him, it is not Achilles, he knows it, the footsteps are too heavy. 

The prince of Vere stands before him, Patroclus bows briefly and waits.

“I suppose… I may have been wrong about you.” The prince says, a statement and nothing more, now he is waiting. 

“I.. am not a slave.” Patroclus cautions.

“You are his lover.” 

“Yes.” 

“You masquerade yourself to join him here.” 

“Yes. I cannot fight-- I do not want to fight.” a pause, he adds “You tried to help me, I appreciate that.” 

The prince considers this. “You lied to Achilles.” 

“If Achilles knew the truth I fear what he may do, prince or not.” Patroclus sighs. 

“He’s protective of you.” 

More than most can know.“To a fault… I hope we can get along, our people, I think there is no sense in war between us-- between you and the king.” 

The prince looks perplexed for a moment, and then, as though to tame the confusion, he shakes his head. “I have the same hopes… you be careful, your man has a temper, it may be any moment that it turns on you.” 

“He is half my soul.” Patroclus snaps. 

The words came before he could stop them, a little harshly perhaps but only because he cannot stand this, the accusatory look, the concern. The prince does not know Achilles, no one knows Achilles the way Patroclus does. They see his anger and his fight, his speed and the carnage he leaves behind him, to them he is a tool, a weapon to use for their advantage. 

They do not see the gentle boy that comes back to Patroclus every night. They do not know his beautiful singing voice, the softness of his touch and the spark of his kiss, they do not know that he likes to spit olive pits at Patroclus and fight over figs, they do not know him, they only pretend to. 

The prince raises an eyebrow at him, Patroclus does not miss the way he parts his lips as if to say something and then presses them together. 

The silence between them goes unbroken, the prince nods at him to signal his departure and Patroclus bows as he goes. 

It is understood then, at least he believes it to be, that Patroclus will carry on his charade and the prince will not say anything about it. Afterall, what good would it do? Patroclus still would not fight but now his comrades outside the Myrmidon camp may well have something to say about it and Achilles… well, as the prince rightly claimed, Achilles has always had a temper and he would think nothing of going after fellow Akielons if it meant protecting Patroclus. 

No, the prince will say nothing, just as Patroclus will say nothing about the unsubtle feelings growing between the Prince and the king. 

\---

“You let him off rather easily.” Laurent says as he enters the space where Damianos is examining a map-- terrain they will need to transverse in order to prevail. He doesn’t mean it, not really, he wasn’t expecting Damen to turn Achilles away, or do much more than he did…but Laurent likes to tease, he knows no other way to speak to this man, tentative as their relationship is. 

“Would you rather I have him whipped?” Ah, the sharpness of his tone, it makes Laurent cringe inwardly. He does not say it and perhaps he never will, but he regrets the scars on Damianos’ back, he regrets the vitriol and hatred he treated the man with in their early acquaintance. But the scars are fixed in place, he cannot take them back. 

Harsh words and harsher treatment, the death of a brother to end a war, lines of scars on the once clear back of a giant man, and the terrifying feeling of falling so helplessly and repulsively in love. They cannot take these things back, try or want as they might. 

Laurent chooses to ignore the quip. He may make comments about it when he is angry but he cannot do it now, the rift between himself and Damen has grown, he does not want to tear it further apart. He does not have anger for this man left inside him. 

Instead he says “Achilles will enjoy himself quite a bit with all the extra running, I think.”

Damen hums. “He runs like a beast, no doubt he’s probably running right now.” his brow furrows and finally he looks up to see Laurent. “Do you think I could outrun him?” 

“No.”

Damen frowns. 

“But, you could probably best him in strength.” 

He smiles again. “I probably could.” 

There is pause between them, little left to say and yet Laurent does not turn to leave. He likes to see emotion on Damen, the way each expression plays on his lips, the gleam of his eye and the crook in his brow. He thinks he should leave, he should not stay and endure this torture-- to love and know he is not worthy of even the friendship this man has offered. 

He should go but he doesn’t, and before he knows it, he is standing beside Damen, looking at the map and proposing strategy. Before he knows it they are almost, just almost, pressed close together. It is enough, for now, for always if it is all he ever gets again. 

It is enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last one! sorry it took so long but the story is now complete!

**Author's Note:**

> Uhhh ty for reading. I hope you liked it ;u; I did my best :d


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